A Place To Stay
by Itar94
Summary: COMPLETE [Gwaine character study, one-shot. No pairings.] "What's he even doing in Camelot, a man like him, a man with no ties?"


_Summary: What's he even doing in Camelot, a man like him, a man with no ties? (Gwaine character study.)_

_Author's note: This is what happens when you stay up late. Not betaread. Spoilers: a few from season three and four, but it's more subtle than anything. _

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**A Place To Stay (What Coming Home Is Like)**

As a knight, there are many duties you have. Fighting and training are of course the most important. But other things as well, not as fun: attending boring hour-long council meetings; one's presence _immediately_ when the king demands it; overlooking the city security; greeting foreign royals politely even though they're stuck-up and arrogant. Being spoken to as Sir constantly can be truly unnerving when you've been wandering aimlessly for years and been a nobody. He's a commoner: a bloody good swordsman yes, but the whole 'Yes sir, no sir, I haven't seen Sir Elyan, sir, last he was seen was in the hall with Prince Arthur, _sir_,' business is sometimes just too much.

Luckily, people are more than happy to call him simply by name once he tells them to. Anyway, he's seen at the local tavern often enough doing things he probably shouldn't by protocol (once the prince almost had chewed his ear off, "What were you thinking, dillydallying with the barman's daughter where the whole Camelot to hear you?" – it's not Gwaine's fault, really, both the ale and the girl were wonderful, separate and together. Not that Princess Prat Pendragon would let him explain) to earn a less than knightly reputation. Not that it bothers him much. People still respect him for who he is, what he stands for, for being such a skilled fighter; he's helped save Camelot more than once, after all.

It's odd to be able to say 'Let's go home' and mean it. Before Camelot he never really had a home. It's odd to walk past the city gates thinking 'This is where I _live__'_ and even stranger to share smiles with people close to him, _dear_ to him, to care for them and have that care returned.

Then we've not even mentioned the armour yet. He could do fine with just a sword, but knight protocol insist on a heavy chainmail and armour and helmet and the long silly red cloaks.

It takes a while to get used to it all.

Most times, he jokes and laughs and flirts as easily as he breaths and the air of mystery remains around him: at first glance, he appears as another stupid drunkard who can think nothing further than down (or up) a skirt, and was often misunderstood and overlooked. A background man who'd come walking onto the stage in a drunken swagger and be noticed for a while and make some chaos, to his satisfaction, and then when he feels for it, jump off and go someplace else. A man with no ties. A man who can go where he pleases, do as he wishes and have a taste of the grand freedom ahead, that thing every man desires, no matter who they are.

But sometimes, he shows this other side. Sometimes, Gwaine is blunt and serious, face set like stone, jaw tense, worried.

He's not a stupid man: he might have built facades over the years, might always wear a quirked grin and a quick witty reply. He liked making people laugh and when it comes to the ladies, well, he's a _man_; he has his needs. Mannerisms have never really been his thing. Despite that, he's not entirely disliked and now, he has a few people he's proud to call his friends, and he treasures them dearly. Gwaine is no longer a man with no ties. He hasn't got many, but those he have are strong, unyielding perhaps. It doesn't matter how many times he's annoyed them or vice versa, how they might complain about a sudden urge to throttle him to keep him quiet, they're always there for him and he backs them up. A guardian, however unlikely.

Behind the flashy white-teeth grin as he flickers his hair and rests a hand on his hip, there's _something_. The strong unyielding love for a friend. The smiles, the twinkling eyes betray something: loyalty. Whatever he might say, muttering about arrogant royals and their stuck-up manners and the _Princess-come-Queen __of __Camelot _(Arthur hasn't forgiven him yet for that jibe) in a tongue-in-cheek way, it doesn't go away, this sense of loyalty. It's no duty, for it's not like earns much of it: no physically anyways, and he's never cared much for riches, for money or status. Some people might think he's all in just for the adventure, the excitement - flighty Gwaine going from one place to the next, from tavern to tavern, from battle to battle.

Sometimes, he looks like some other man completely, wearing his chainmail and the Pendragon insignia on his cloak. The old same Gwaine never does go away, it's impossible, it _shouldn__'__t_ go away, but it's almost as if…he's growing up. The jokes will never fade; he'll keep the smiles and the little pranks and attitude. He'll always remain much of a puzzle and like many puzzles, he might never be solved, there might not be enough time (or patience). But… _sometimes_. Like in the pats on his friends' backs. Like when he grabs one of their arms pulling them out of the way of danger, taking their place, and he gets called a fool afterwards.

He never denies it, not does he talk about it. It's just a thing that is. In the beginning, nobody really noticed. They wondered why he stayed in Camelot, why he accepted knighthood and all that the burdens it entails (wonder, happiness, sorrow, anger, sweat, tears, blood), why he lingered when he could have moved on. He hasn't stayed in one place for years and disliked nobles and never obeyed any master than himself. When people ask, they get a shrug in reply and something about 'The ale in Camelot is rather good' but not straightforward responses because Gwaine likes it that way. To still have an air of mystery about him, of puzzlement. It attracts people yet keeps them at a safe distance; not too far, not too close.

Some things he doesn't deny. His friendships, at least most of them, for the other knights, even sir Leon who was so suspicious to begin with and the pratty Prince, have woven their way into the fabric of his heart and settled there. It's comfortable there, this feeling of belonging and he feels a bit better and warmer whenever he greets them, a pat on the arm, a handful of words. They're short and everyday but they are sincere, which is what matters.

The bond he has with Merlin, it's something more, something special though it's difficult to say what it is. Maybe it's just the boy's personality; he's a ray of sunshine and luck and endearment, endlessly kind and selfless, so oblivious to the effect he has on people, it might just be the young warlock's magnetic force, the way he makes people gather around him and he gives without asking: help, hope, compassion, love. Merlin had held out his hand and given him an opportunity; had cheered for him and stood up for him and if not for their fortunate meeting, Gwaine probably would never have come here. It could have been any kingdom. Any place, any time. If not for one meeting in a village tavern brawl, so long ago.

What's he doing in Camelot, a man like him?

To be honest, Gwaine isn't sure, but it's fine anyway, and he's glad that he's here.


End file.
